Rob and I took the train to Washington, DC to celebrate Penny's 40th birthday this weekend. Because some of my dearest friends also live in DC, we split up the first night for dinner with two different groups. Everyone met up for drinks afterwards at New Vegas Lounge where we proceeded to dance like children of the night. When people describe themselves as dancing like children of the night, they mean drunk children, right? Drunk children in their mom's heels?
The next morning when I woke up around 10, I tried talking to Rob about our upcoming day. That's how I found out that it was "quiet time." Moments later, he declared a moratorium on quiet time long enough to explain what food/coffee items he wanted me to bring him from the outside world. And I did it. Because I am a loving and responsive partner and also because I was the one who didn't drink 12 glasses of wine the night before.
After we ate breakfast, it was quiet time again.
Penny's party was Saturday night at our hotel. It was a total blast. Lots of people came in from out of town, there was yummy food, and Bill put together a wonderful slide show of pictures that were mostly of Penny, but also featured Janet Jackson, Justin Timberlake, and Janet Jackson's nipple.
When the official party was over, a smaller group moved to a hotel room and continued drinking champagne until we finally peeled ourselves off the furniture and stumbled to our own rooms.
I think you can guess what that means. Sunday morning? Quiet time, the revival.
Jack is TWO!
10 years ago
4 comments:
I had "quiet time" instituted at my house yesterday, not due to adult cocktails like champagne, but because of green beer in plastic cups.
I think I'm 19 again, but this time legal.
sometimes i feel like we live in parallel universes. . . i do applaud rob that at least he announces "quiet time". frequently at our house i speak at length to Chat about the happenings of my day and the world at large. at some point i realize that he is not speaking back, because. . . it's quiet time.
Nina, maybe we should have our own reality show where I go to live in your house and you come to live in mine. Except for the placement of the furniture and the increased commute time, it's entirely possible we wouldn't notice we were anywhere else.
The scary thing is, you're totally right. . .
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